


Night Out

by HelloAmHere



Series: Symphony Hall [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha Harry, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Banter, Bottom Louis, Breathplay, I'm pretty big on angsty people learning to communicate, Louis is a strong independent omega who don't need no alpha, M/M, Mild D/s Overtones, Omega Louis, One Night Stand, Oral Sex, Smut, Top Harry, alternative universe - symphony hall, and boundary negotiation, because I guess I like doing that to him, but hopefully with communication, mild reference to infidelity (past), not sure if that's a legit AU BUT HEY, or on the other hand is it a one night stand, slightly anxious Louis, yep ok yep I mean one night stand I guess here's a bunch of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-04
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-23 17:14:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11994318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelloAmHere/pseuds/HelloAmHere
Summary: Symphony hall was the first place Louis had felt at home in this city, and he always had the box to himself. Until tonight.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Love Is A Rebellious Bird](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1162438) by [100percentsassy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/100percentsassy/pseuds/100percentsassy), [gloria_andrews](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloria_andrews/pseuds/gloria_andrews). 



> Here's something that I'm planning to be relatively short (but we all know how that goes, DON'T WE). An AU with the same dynamics as Just Let Me: that is, a more lightweight version of A/B/O that includes touch deprivation physiology and subspace/omega space, but wherein A/B/O doesn't determine personalities or relationship dynamics. 
> 
> I took a tiny bit of inspiration in setting and the mention of orchestral tension from the lovely piece of work "Love is a Rebellious Bird" by 100percentsassy and gloria_andrews !
> 
> Comments are very loved :)!  
> Listening to: The Dame Says, by Ivy Levan, which suitably represents the drama that is this AU Louis

The best seat in symphony hall was a box on stage left that sat just high enough to avoid line of sight from the crowd without losing view of the musicians’ faces. It had its own entrance, a rather Narnian lamp, and it allowed both alcohol and snacks, which in Louis’ opinion was more important than all the other features combined.

Thomas had claimed that it had worse acoustics than the premium seats in orchestra, and that holding a box seat made Louis look like a pretentious ass, and Louis’ opinion on _that_ was that Thomas could go straight to hell. Both Thomas and his god-damn hipster director from the West End with the bad shirts and no compunction about cheating.

Louis contentedly sank farther into the velvet seat and braced his feet against the box wall, beneath the red railing so he wouldn’t give some staid older lady in upper orchestra a heart attack. Maybe the box seat was pretentious, but it was _his_ pretentious: he’d attended every season from this box for the last four years. And tonight, he was going to wash away an exhausting week chasing a failed partnership deal with some Saint-Saëns, and he was going to do it with snacks.

As usual the other seats in the box were empty, granting Louis a blissful isolation. Louis had had his eye on this box since he first came to the symphony to catch a Bernstein celebratory series. He’d been drawn in by musical theater highlights, but he’d been entranced by the symphony from the moment he stepped into the absurdly ornate, red and gold hall. Louis didn’t indulge his omega side much, but as far as that went, he was a full sucker for sensory soothing. The lush music, the shimmering crystal chandeliers, the sculpted columns, the heavy curtains and shifting textures all gave Louis a deep, riveting sense of joy. The symphony hall had been the first place Louis felt at home in this city.

Box seats were impossible to get, nearly always held in the voracious claws of long-term subscribers. When Louis noticed that one of the beautiful box seats was empty, he’d made flirtatious eyes at one of the ushers until he found out that three of the season ticket holders were on semi-permanent vacation to their new home in the Bahamas, and that the fourth hadn’t sold out to a season subscriber yet because everybody wanted a box set. Louis had snatched it up, and it had been his personal box ever since.

Maybe that was why Louis jumped so much he nearly fell out of his seat when a tall, squinty-eyed, moppy-haired man with cheekbones like cut glass came through _his_ door into _his_ box and took a seat right next to Louis, just as the chandeliers started their ascent to the ceiling.

“So sorry, love,” the man said, not sounding sorry. His face had a quirk in it that was halfway to a smile and his eyes were sleepy, a vibrant green even in the moody symphony hall lighting. Louis realized he was turned halfway around and staring, although in his defense, four years and nobody had _ever_ come to sit in his box, let alone done it with inappropriate endearments. He closed his mouth with a snap.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, hope you don’t mind if I join,” the man continued with a wry twinkle, pulling the cuffs of his sleeves into place and stretching long--really long--legs into Louis’ designated alcohol floor spot. Louis was about to give a gracious reply even though he did mind, thanks very much, but then the stranger’s outstretched foot knocked over the flimsy plastic cup of gin and tonic that was integral to Louis’ plan of relaxation, and the only path forward was hatred.

“Join, yes, destroy everything in sight, no,” Louis said, voice dry as sawdust. That same voice had struck terror in the hearts of many a boardroom in the city. The man blinked, unusually slowly, face like it was permanently at ease. If anything, his mouth twitched closer to a smile. The gin vanished into the thick carpet and Louis watched it go, mournfully.

“Isn’t that what these are for?” the stranger said, tapping the discrete drink holders set back against the railing. Louis noticed that his hands were beautiful, large and graceful and covered in silver rings, and he hated harder.

“If you want to spend the whole night disrupting your neighbor’s experience by reaching in front of their face, maybe,” Louis said acerbically, “Some of us are trying to have a more civilized experience. I think the ushers stopped carrying bibs about a decade ago.”

Rather than taking offense like Louis expected, the stranger threw back his head and laughed, not even trying to be quiet. Louis felt it like a warm wash of sensation down his back, a disturbing frisson that made him feel twitchy. Usually by this point strangers had backed far away from Louis and avoided making eye contact for the rest of the time they shared an elevator or a cab ride or a theatre seat  with him. This stranger was eyeing Louis up and down, unabashed.

Louis folded his arms and stared straight ahead to the stage. The stranger was wearing a gorgeous suit, definitely bespoke, and it had a hint of lavender in a dark, swirling leaf pattern, whereas Louis was wearing his most comfortable sweater that pooled about him in a cozy mess and he hadn’t done his hair and he was in glasses _,_ for chrissake. At least the lights were dimming. Louis shook his head minutely to clear it and turned his attention to his orchestra, but then he felt the hairs at the back of his neck stand up.

“I’m Harry,” said the-stranger-named-Harry, leaning forward to whisper against the left side of Louis’ head. His arm was on their shared armrest, because this Harry was clearly not fussed about personal space, or the person who had prior claim on the box. Louis felt Harry’s breath against the curl of his ear, and that wash of warmth again. Christ. He blinked and pulled his sensations inward, careful to make sure that he wasn’t unconsciously broadcasting anything pheromonal. That would just be the icing on an already spectacularly shitty week.

“Hello, Harry,” Louis said quietly, between his teeth, not turning his head, still feeling Harry’s face far too close, “I’m an audience member at an event that prizes audience silence.”

Harry huffed an amused breath as he sat back in his seat and  Louis caught the trail of his scent on it. It was a flash of salt and amber with a base of something sweet, like vanilla musk, maybe. It all but made his mouth water. Just his luck.

Distractions aside, the music was still everything when it started. Louis watched happily as the conductor led the orchestra through a leisurely first movement, unhurried and subtle. Louis rather liked this Beethoven selection, even if it wasn’t much of a challenge, more of a crowd-pleaser.  The concertmaster had been with them for only three months after the previous, ancient violinist had been replaced and Louis wanted him to do well. Louis had even gone so far as to tweet about ticket sales, much as it had earned him some jabs at work. Work could eat it: the hall looked fuller than ever. Louis pulled his feet up onto the chair and rested his chin on his knees, letting the music float on. He could stay here for hours. Here, in the dark, it was a relief to not inhibit all of the small, delicate omega mannerisms that earned sideways looks when he was skewering the analytics on a financial. Here, Louis could trust in heavy curtains and staid audience tradition to grant restful separation from the churning, busy world of other people's agendas. Louis spent too many hours of his life managing other people's expectations, and here, all of that could fall away.

Except that there was also a stranger in his box, a strange _alpha_. Louis tried to settle and pretend this was just like any concert, alone in his box, but there was something intimate about Harry's presence. For at least twenty minutes into the first act, Louis tried to figure out what this annoying interloper was doing _._ Harry was breathing too loudly, maybe, or it was the way that Louis had to worry about curling up with his feet underneath of himself and accidentally hitting Harry when he did so. Twice. And then that he had to mutter something that was halfway between an apology and irritation under his breath as he readjusted. And then that he had to steal small glances at Harry only to find the taller man watching the orchestra, an expression of benign contentment on his face. It was a nice face, and Louis hated it.

Louis was a master of objective observation and he objectively observed that he was being a complete idiot. The concertmaster, Payne, was handling a tricky intersection with violent strings and gentle percussion, and it was all going pretty well. But fuck it all, Louis couldn’t concentrate. It was the closest physical proximity Louis had had to an alpha since...Well, in a long time, anyway. He felt it in his bones. Louis passed the program from one hand to the other and then dropped it, and picked it up, and as he picked it up, he kicked the empty cup out from under his foot and directly into Harry’s ankle. Shit. Harry jerked his chin slightly in Louis’ direction and raised an eyebrow, and Louis forced himself to put both feet on the floor and glue them there.

By the time intermission came, Louis hopped out of his seat and made a beeline for the bar as soon as the chandeliers lit. He didn’t look back to see what Harry was doing, or whether Harry knew how to navigate the strange intersection between the hallway and the main lobby that, as Thomas used to say, “kept the plebs out.” Then he firmly stopped thinking about Thomas and headed for his patented anti-Thomas-thinking remedy, which was more alcohol.

As ever, ten older couples had already gotten in line for the bar in front of him. Louis never would have believed, four years ago, that the sweet little old people at the symphony would be such terrors in the bar lines. Louis shook his fringe out of his face and wondered why he’d forgone any styling. He tapped at his thigh and then flinched when a mid-fifties, silver fox alpha in front of him in line leaned back, too close. Louis smiled vacantly at the man in apology.Jesus _._ It must have been longer than he thought since he’d had a good touch, even just a platonic cuddle. He made a mental note to pick up stimulants on his way into work on monday. Or Amazon Fresh did stims if you got the bulk pack, right? He'd order them that night when he got home, that’s what he’d do.  

In the corner of his eye, a striking figure in a suit came into view. Harry, for some inexplicable reason, heading straight for the bar. Louis sighed, deeply and profoundly. Of course the one person to somehow beg, steal or borrow a ticket in his box would be an alpha, and a drop-dead gorgeous alpha, the kind of guy that probably amused himself by stalking omegas that looked like Louis, trying to make them nervous. He'd get a surprise here, then. Louis was used to being underestimated. And he wasn’t usually the one who left the interaction feeling nervous.

“Hello there, floor drink man,” Harry said, smiling down at Louis. Out of their seats he made Louis feel goddamn pocket-size. Harry didn’t _look_ predatory, to be fair, not with those big earnest dimples and hair curling over his ears. But there was something in the way that he leaned forward, big hands in his pockets, and that something made Louis feel like he needed to take an extra step back. He didn't, in case Harry thought it meant something or in case it triggered one of those godawful alpha _I just want to help are you OK,_ things.

“Louis,” Louis said. “Most people prefer Louis.”

“I’ll bet they do,” Harry said. “Let me get your round, hey? In reparation?”

“It’s the least you could do,” Louis agreed. “A four-year streak of coming to the symphony alone was broken tonight. They were probably going to put in a plaque.”

Then Louis wrinkled his nose, because maybe that sounded a bit pathetic. He liked being alone, not that it mattered to this stranger. Harry was already leaning out over the queue and mouthed an order to the bartender. How he got her attention and had the apparent power to jump the ten older couples in front of them, Louis had no idea. He did wish he could harness that power for the coffee place in the lobby of his office, where Louis consistently had to remind the barista of his existence. Harry had too many rings on his fingers to live in a boardroom, Louis thought, and his hair made him look like an artist, but the suit was well out of the range. Not the usual type of alpha to haunt symphony hall alone, but maybe he’d gotten a ticket as a gift, or was visiting from out of town. Louis frowned at himself and shut the calculus down: it was hard to turn it off sometimes, the perpetual strategy and transactions of work bleeding onto real humans in real places.

“Get lost in your thoughts here often? Gin and tonic, yeah, love?” Harry said, and he was looking down at Louis and arching an eyebrow. That was it; Louis spun on his heel to find the bathroom.

“Try not to spill it on the way back to the box,” Louis said, over his shoulder. Harry laughed again _._ A problem, that was, easy laughing, being so happy was not very suited to the staid symphony hall. Louis ignored the smile that crept over his own face, thankful that Harry couldn't see it.  


	2. Chapter 2

Harry ambled back into the box with four plastic cups full of clear liquid. He dropped two of them neatly into the holders before putting the other two on the floor, making a great show of stepping to the side as he settled back down in his seat.

“Got our drinks,” Harry said, as if he hadn't just enacted an entire performance about it, stupid husky voice, stupid chummy attitude, like now they were a team.

Louis plucked one of the drinks off the floor and took a good pull. It was stiff, and maybe that was part of Harry’s bar-service magic, because Louis did not remember the bar serving anything this strong and satisfying.  There were limes in only two of the cups and as Louis lowered his cup to his lap, Harry fished the slice out of his and dropped it in Louis’ drink, smoothly and quickly. It was weird but charming. The chandeliers were already dimming, so Harry definitely couldn’t see the flush that had come up through Louis’ face. Hopefully. He took another pull.

“You’ve really been coming here for four years?” Harry asked, ignoring the settling crowd and the imminent music. “You must have seen some things.”

Louis looked over the rim of his cup at Harry.

“I’ve gone from someone who would've only recognized Beethoven’s fifth to someone who has irrationally strong opinions about neoclassicism,” he said, “I dunno if that’s seeing things, not exactly the Fast and the Furious in here.”

“You’re telling me there isn’t gonna be a mosh pit with bikini models at some point? I feel severely misled.”

Louis considered. “If it’s violence you’re after, sometimes the orchestra plays an avant-garde contemporary, and if you know the right corners of the lobby to stand in, you can hear some truly brutal criticism from a seventy-year-old investment banker.”

Harry made a mock-shocked face, eyes bugging out and mouth wide open, a flash of warm red and white teeth. Louis did not think inappropriate thoughts about that mouth. Below the railing, silence had settled over the audience as the orchestra re-assembled itself.

“That sounds like a lot for my heart to handle,” Harry said, not even glancing towards the stage. "Whereas I look pretty great in a bikini." 

“Mosh pit, smosh pit. You’ve got to train up for the symphony, it's a whole other level.” Louis said gravely, not rising to the bait.

“How do you suggest I begin?” Harry said, leaning forward, devil in his eyes. The music was definitely, definitely starting now, and Louis was almost expecting an usher to come and kick them out for bad behavior.

Without thinking, Louis reached out and put a hand over Harry’s mouth. They froze, warm skin and a hint of stubble under Louis’ hand, Louis was an idiot. Louis wanted to know, right now, whether the rest of Harry’s skin felt this lovely. Harry pulled a face that looked halfway to delighted and Louis rolled his eyes, snatched his hand away and tried to make it look casual. The alcohol must be hitting him fast, creeping underneath his usual inhibition.

“For starters, we save our discussions for after the music, here,” he said, turning back around in his seat. 

The second act was fraught as soon as it started. This was the turning point Louis had been waiting for, the more technical stuff, and as he scanned the audience, he recognized that some of the other usuals were also holding their breath. It was a brand new selection for the orchestra’s director and here, at the front of the season, it was clearly part of their strategy to make a splash. Immediately, the struggle was obvious: the push and pull from the string section probably wasn’t apparent to anyone who wasn’t as tuned in as Louis, but he unconsciously crept to the edge of his seat and hovered there.

Louis didn’t even realize he’d finished his first drink until Harry nudged his hand and replaced it with a second one. They tapped a quick and silent cheers together with the plastic cups. As they did, Louis heard the strings section fight to wrest the tempo away from the director _again._ Creative differences coming out under pressure, clearly. Even from this distance, Louis could see the strain in Malik’s shoulders.

“Oh, don’t you bloody do it,” Louis muttered under his breath. He was halfway through the second drink already, always a nervous drinker. It helped, a warm edge on the night. 

“Do what?” Harry asked in a whisper. Louis blinked, hadn’t even realized he’d spoken out loud.

“What, I want to know,” Harry said, like a kid trying to find out a secret.

Louis shot him a look, but Harry furrowed his brows in an exaggerated puppy dog face and dammit all, Louis was only human. Nobody could hear them in the box, really, and this was his least favorite movement although he thought that the wind section was killing it on the particularly tricky section, no thanks to the strings. And Harry looked so sincere.

“Ok the thing is, Payne is a relatively new concertmaster,” Louis whispered, leaning back in his seat for easier access to Harry’s ear. “And look at his face? He’s straining, fighting the direction. This piece is gonna be the focus of reviews tomorrow, if he fights too hard, they pick up on it.”

"This is worrying you," Harry noted. Louis shrugged, fair enough. 

“The orchestra has been on the verge of being considered top class for awhile, world class, right? This is the season that could finally make it so, we’ve been hoping. They finally brought in young talent, especially Zayn Malik, and _then_ they got Payne which was a total coup because everybody thought he was _married_ to London. Guess he decided to leave for some reason, come here. But there's been a rumor of tension between Payne and Malik.”

“Which one is Malik?” Harry whispered, hands steepled under his chin. Louis gave him an outraged look and Harry's smile turned into a grin. Harry was watching Louis instead of the orchestra, and Louis refused to examine why that gave him such a sense of satisfaction.

“He's only the bloody director,” Louis sniffed, “The prettiest guy you've ever seen in the front there with the stick? Basically the boss of the whole thing. He doesn't just conduct, he has to design it, you know? Lead the whole orchestra, balance them all, make them like a family. If there's tension that means the balance isn't there yet. And you'll be able to hear it, the way they fight over interpretations each night.”

Louis stopped and squinted at Harry. “You're not taking the piss, are you?”

“I'm really not,” Harry whispered, and Louis believed him. “I'm just ignorant and I like listening to people who aren't.”

“Face like that, I imagine it's not a challenge,” Louis said. Dammit, Louis.

“And here I was guessing the only person you noticed in this hall was pretty Malik,” Harry said, but Louis was sure he was joking. Pretty sure.

“I have _eyes,”_ Louis said, “Doesn't mean I _care.”_ He didn’t mean to, but he realized he was baring his teeth, a little. Harry was still smiling and as Louis watched, the corner of his tongue ran briefly over the tops of his own teeth. He was awfully close, and awfully pretty. Louis looked away.

“Payne is gonna work out, I have faith,” Louis whispered, “It rattles you up to move to a new place. It can be hard to find your footing.”

Louis knew that for a personal fact, he didn't add. For a while it had been all right, with Thomas on his side, until Thomas wasn't.

“Was this part of what made you feel at home, then, the symphony?” Harry asked with startling perspicacity.

“Are you seriously more interested in talking to me than in the music?” Louis said with exasperation. It was bad enough that he couldn't pay attention in his _own_ head.

“Guilty,” Harry said, looking at Louis through his eyelashes, calculating. Around them, the music rose and fell, but it was secondary in Louis’ perception, now. “Maybe it's because I like the way you look when you're explaining things. Or it’s the utterly adorable way that you curl up in your seat. Or the way you put drinks on the floor. Or the fact that you come to unwind at the symphony at the end of a long week like it's your favorite television show.”

“I come here to relax,” Louis said nonsensically, backed up in his seat, because who was Harry to make him feel defensive and flushed at once. Adorable, his ass.

“Doing a good job, are we?” Harry said, but he didn’t sound mean, only teasing. Everything came out of Harry’s throat on a lilt, and he was looking at Louis with an open, happy smile that was awfully hard to resist. Something about Harry shot right to the least analytical parts of Louis’ brain and slowly turned his levers towards crazy.

Louis cleared his throat and looked at Harry. Sleepy eyes and slight stubble looked back at him, steady and clear. And goddamn, Louis realized, he may have been holding back his chemical call sign but Harry wasn't, attraction and invitation draping their box in an intoxicating scent. Louis could have buried his nose in Harry's shoulder then and there for the whole rest of the concert, and he had a suspicion that Harry could tell. Harry had leaned forward in his seat, but it looked like he was still holding himself back, waiting for Louis to respond.

“Just so we’re totally clear,” Louis said, “I’m not looking for a relationship, and if I were, it wouldn’t be with an alpha _.”_

He meant to say it straightforwardly, just a fact. It came out harsher than he intended, biting. Louis winced but there was nothing else to say--not in a symphony box with a stranger, jesus. Harry didn’t say anything for a beat.

“Noted,” Harry said, whisper voice turned to gravel, “But in my experience, that's not the only reason to talk when you sit down next to the most gorgeous boy in the symphony hall. So maybe what you're looking for....it could just be a bit of freedom, tonight.”

Harry reached out to take Louis’ hand from where it lay in his lap. He held Louis’ hand, palm up, and traced his fingers down the palm. Slowly, carefully, deliberately, he pulled Louis’ hand in towards his face and sucked on one of his fingers. Harry's mouth was warm and lush and ridiculous. It was completely insane and completely inappropriate and Louis was completely into it. The orchestra played on.

“Why not,” Harry whispered into Louis’ fingers, nosing at them like he loved the way Louis smelled, too, holding Louis’ hand between his palms, “Let somebody take care of you, just for once? No strings attached, I promise. I'd love to.”

Louis bit his lip, felt his shoulders squirm, and like that, the threads of his self-control snapped. He'd never see Harry again, no one would know, no strings. Why not?

“The thing I like about the box is that it has its own hallway,” Louis whispered, raising an eyebrow, and Harry's eyes sparkled in the dark.

“Thank god for a symphony hall expert like you,” Harry said, standing up in a smooth movement and not releasing Louis’ hand, half-lifting Louis right out of his seat. Louis glanced with panic at the audience just over the railing, but Harry was already walking him backwards towards the door. Nobody was watching _them,_ of course, but Louis’ heart was still pounding.

“Don't be nervous,” Harry whispered, and Louis snorted as far as he could in a whisper.

“I’m not,” he lied.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry’s face was all shadows and curves in the dim hallway. His eyelashes glinted gold, backlit from the door, one cheekbone carved up in light. He really was breathtaking.

Harry bent forward and Louis realized how close they were, like he’d been unconsciously swaying in towards Harry, closing the distance. Where Harry’s hand was wrapped around Louis’ upper arm, he squeezed lightly. Louis paused expectantly, but Harry’s face went past his own and he breathed out a surprised huff when Harry nosed into his hair and took a long breath.

“Mn,” Harry said, muffled, “I’ve been wanting to do that.”

“You practically did already,” Louis said, like he didn’t love it. “All ' _I’m Harry'_ right in my neck when you sat down,”

“That’s how I knew I wanted to,” Harry said smugly. “I was right, you smell amazing.”

Harry had his fingers up in the back of Louis’ hair, twining them against Louis’ head and tugging slightly. The door to the box hung open to let in yellow light from the hall; through it, Louis could hear the orchestra hint at a lovely crescendo, just foreshadowing the eventual finale. He felt the butterflies in his stomach and his breathing coming out in a tiny gasp and Harry pulled his hair harder, experimentally, tipping Louis’ head backwards like he was gauging Louis’ reaction. Harry was barely touching him, still holding his body distant and precise in space away from Louis, but he’d somehow reduced Louis to a ball of nerves and anticipation.  

“You’re a savage,” Louis whispered. He felt Harry smile against the side of his face.

Harry pushed Louis slowly but firmly into the hallway wall, still not kissing him, still not doing much but slowly feeling out his body. Harry felt with his whole body, his hips pressing into Louis’ pelvis gently and leaning slightly against Louis’ small frame, letting the weight of it move him to the wall. Louis could feel Harry's muscles even under his suit and god, he had a nice body with an even better face, Louis had an insane desire to get the suit off then and there. He contented himself with running his hands down the satisfying lean muscles of Harry's arms and then gently and carefully, along his toned thighs, scraping with his fingernails. Harry pushed closer.

Louis felt a wave of different nerves, then, the light fading as Harry’s body eclipsed it. He went tense before he could stop himself, his muscles locked against the wall. Harry stopped and pulled back to make clear eye contact.

“Hey, you ok?” he asked, reacting so quickly that Louis was the one who had to pause and think about it.

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis stuttered, catching his tongue between his teeth a bit. But, was he? Beneath the magnetic pull of Harry and his own _please, let’s, touch, want,_ what was the current of hesitation in his gut? Harry was still looking at him, green eyes thoughtful. Louis caught at Harry’s elbows, fingers curling into them and pulling Harry back. _Want,_ he felt, and hoped it was communicated. Harry came easily back into Louis’ space, so maybe it was.

“All right, here’s the thing,” Louis started, “You don’t have to,” and he stopped himself, eyebrows creased. He had the idea that they should talk about this before beginning it, but he wasn’t sure how. Harry tilted his head to the side.

“Neither do you,” he said, with a question mark in his whisper, “But, I don’t have to what?”

Louis looked at a point over Harry’s right shoulder, conscious of every place where Harry was still pressed up against him, intimate and encompassing.

“I mean,” Louis said determinedly, “I mean just because I’m omega, you know, you don’t have to feel an obligation to, any particular--” he faltered, sounding like an idiot, and feeling like one.

“Oh,” Harry said, and he put a finger under Louis’ chin, nudging Louis to look him in the face again. Louis liked it, although he kind of hated that he liked it. Harry smiled.

“Of course we don’t,” Harry said. “Look, I know you don’t know me, and I don’t know you, but I’m not after some kind of particular thing from you, right? I think you’re beautiful, I’d like to kiss you. Do you want to be out here? Because you can go back to your box. I could even let you listen to the music.”

“I do, though,” Louis whispered, looking at Harry’s stellar cheekbone instead of his eyes. It wasn’t a bad place to rest one’s gaze. He rather wished he wasn't baring his soul thirty seconds into what was supposed to be a casual hookup, but that was just the idiot he was. _You talk too much,_ Thomas would have hissed, towards the end of it all. Louis should have known, then. Louis rolled his eyes to the ceiling, because god damn, _no,_ he wasn’t going to ruin this night with _that._

“I want to be here,” Louis clarified.

“Ok,” said Harry, sounding thoughtful, sounding soft. “ _You_ don’t have to do anything, either,” Harry said, “But you can if you want to?” Louis risked a glance at Harry’s face, and it looked impish and inviting.

“Oh I very much want to,” said Louis, running his fingers along Harry's jaw, pressing just barely into the skin. He let his chemistry express itself too, desire easy to find, crawling under the surface of his fingertips and running through every heartbeat. Now it was Harry catching his breath, so it seemed like it was working for him, too.

“I just don't want to go too far,” Louis whispered, wincing internally, but persevering, “I'm not, I don't think we should, out in the hallway here,” Louis hesitated, and Harry frowned.

“Is it omega space?” Harry asked, straightforward, and not nearly as awkward as Louis felt. This was potentially one of the reasons that Louis was so bad at hookups, but he didn’t feel like looking into that box right now. “Is there something I should know?”

Louis released his breath in a sigh that maybe bordered on dramatic. What could he say, it was his hallway. “Yeah,” he said, “that's all, it shouldn't happen, it's just been a while, you know, I'm usually on stims, but I ran out last week.”

Harry nodded, comprehension dawning on his face. Louis was closer to a drop, closer to omega space than he wanted to be, and Harry had to know to pull back if needed. It was rare, Louis knew, to be as on the edge as he was. Omegas usually had as many relationships as they wanted, or at least the casual affection that kept everything in balance. Why _Louis_ didn’t have that had to be a surprise for Harry, but it wasn’t a conversation Louis was going to have with a stranger. Louis swallowed hard and hoped that he hadn't just blown up his chances tonight, that he wouldn't feel Harry lean away from him, discomfort and unease in his body.

“How about this,” said Harry, in the tone of someone producing an unholy scheme. Louis knew that tone, Louis usually produced those schemes himself. Maybe there was hope yet.

“You know you get to do whatever you want, here? With me?” Harry said, “No expectations, no, _status,_ right? Not what somebody else wants, just what you want. I will keep you out of space, no matter what.”

Louis heard the certainty in his tone and he felt it, too, in Harry’s touch that was lingering but not encroaching, in the way that Harry scanned his face, looking for confirmation.  

“That sounds great, just, thought we should be on the same page, didn't want-” Louis whispered, and stopped again, because there weren't a lot of polite ways to say that you didn't want to be bullied, or to have one yes turned into every other yes that could be. Harry didn't seem the type, but they never did.

“Of course,” Harry said, like he began all of his one-night stands with a negotiation of alpha boundaries, and hell, maybe he did.

“Back to your regularly scheduled orchestral hookup,” Louis said. “Try to tune your noises to the french horn.”

Harry grinned at that, and the grin made Louis swallow, it was meaningful and dark. Louis’ jumper sleeve had pushed up to his elbow and Harry was tracing the black ink of his tattoos with the edge of his finger. Harry turned Louis’ arm over to examine it in the sliver of light leaking from the door. Louis’ forearm was a defiant jumble of sketched tattoos that he usually kept hidden and never explained. They, and his body, were his.

“I love this. Are there more?” Harry whispered.

Louis shrugged like _guess you could find out,_ and Harry looked pleased, pressed Louis’ arm to his mouth and gave it an open kiss. And then he licked down it properly, scenting the underneath of Louis’ arm and the sensitive skin under his wrist. Louis trembled involuntarily under Harry's grip. Louis hadn't been properly held by somebody since Thomas, and he wondered if Harry could tell, the way his body was longing for it. It was like an ache all over, wordless and deep.

“Can I kiss you?” Harry asked, and he looked so sincere, Louis had to blink against it and remind himself that he didn’t even know this man, that this was just a hookup, that this was a crazy late night that would be vanished in the morning.

“Sure, if you’re good at it,” Louis said, nudging with his nose along Harry’s cheek and scented him back, breathing deeply, equilibrium back. Harry scoffed, sounding a bit offended, and Louis hid a smile in his shoulder, traded Harry a quick lick on his neck that made him take a long inhale. He’d rather expected Harry to be quick and dirty, not slow and thoughtful, but he wasn’t complaining. Harry’s alpha pheromones were like the most perfect cocktail, dropped right into his bloodstream and sending their chemical trail firing in a frenzy all the way to his toes. Louis was already turned on but he felt himself go even warmer, hard and soft all at once.

Harry pushed Louis up harder against the wall of the hallway and Louis scrambled for a hold against the slippery fabric of his suit. Harry lifted one hand to Louis’ face and Louis waited, bated breath, but Harry just lifted the glasses off his nose with a smile, disappeared them into a pocket. Louis blinked, cheeky, that, but somehow Harry got away with it. In his slightly-blurred vision, Harry looked like an angel with the light behind him, all soft curls and glinting mischief. Harry held Louis’ jaw and encircled his waist, pinning him to the wall. And then finally he was on Louis’ mouth, kissing with a deep sweep of his tongue, barely sucking at Louis’ lip, stroking under Louis’ jaw with a rolling finger. So yeah, ok, he was good at it.

It was the headiest first kiss Louis had ever had, and Louis _loved_ kissing, considered himself a bit of a connoisseur. Louis kissed back, pushing back into Harry's jaw and working his way into Harry's mouth instead. Harry made small noises of appreciation, hushed and somehow perfect with the orchestra’s rise and fall in the background. It had been _so long_ since Louis felt anything like this, like every touch was as magnetic for the other person as it was for him. They separated for a moment, catching their breath, and then Harry's teeth and tongue were everywhere, indecent in their exploration, kissing over Louis’ face and biting at his lips. He wondered for a second if he was losing his mind, whether an usher could come around the corner at any moment, but decided he didn’t care.

“You’ll have to be quiet,” Harry said, eyes mischievous. Louis rolled his eyes immediately. “Worry about yourself, box trespasser,” he said.  

Louis grabbed at Harry's face and kissed him roughly, sucking in a lovely lip and eliciting a rewarding panting breath. Harry seemed to have no inhibitions about showing his pleasure and it made Louis dizzy, nearly, wondering if somebody could really be so into _him?_ Harry sank to his knees, still pushing Louis easily into the wall, and he drew the fingers of his other hand around the soft curve of Louis’ ass and stroked, smoothing the fabric of his jeans against where the slick was building. Louis felt his ribs expand and butterfly with his rapid breath. Harry gently raised the hem of his sweater and kissed his sharp hipbone, the vulnerable skin of his side, the bottom of his ribs. Harry's fingers were questioning, gentle, and Louis felt himself push into them recklessly, asking for more.

“Good boy,” Harry whispered, and Louis felt the praise dazzle in his ears, spark like static, “You're such a gorgeous, gorgeous boy, can't believe I'm getting to touch you. Wanted you the second I saw you, up there in your box in the sky. Those blue eyes in that sharp, amazing face.”

Louis blinked at Harry, rendered into silence, a little omega-loopy from the unexpected praise. Louis didn’t normally _go_ for praise, it seemed so _juvenile,_ but Harry smiled up at him from the floor and then replaced his hand on Louis’ face, holding his jaw and stroking his neck. With the other, he started to unbutton Louis’ slacks, holding for a second to give Louis time to say something. Louis leaned forward to kiss Harry more and pushed them smoothly down to his knees, the sweater falling around his hips. Harry palmed at his bare skin, the band of his boxers, slipping a finger along the inside as he kissed Louis back with tongue. Louis felt a bit like he was coming undone somewhere on the inside, and he knew Harry could sense it because his other hand held firm and steady on Louis's jaw and his finger traced over his lip. Louis shivered under Harry's hands, from his head through his thighs and down into his feet.

“I'll take care of you, gorgeous boy, just be,” Harry said, and he knelt, pulled Louis’ boxer briefs down and mouthed over his cock, easy as that.

Harry’s mouth was hot and wet and Louis felt himself give a rising whimper that he only held back out of his deep and abiding love for the symphony. Harry was licking the underside of his cock, now, teasing and slow and watching Louis’ every reaction with stealthy, knowing upward glances. Louis felt his cheeks burn, standing in the goddamn hallway in his sweater with his pants pulled down to his knees, but it was too good to resist, he wanted it too much.

Suddenly Harry pulled off his cock and brought his other hand back around Louis’ thigh and searched upwards, tracing the warm slick that had pooled there and sending heady bursts of desire through Louis’ pelvis. Harry flicked his finger gently over Louis’ entrance and Louis moaned, and then flushed, and then felt a wave of anxious worry on top of all the lust. What was he doing, honestly, in the middle of the hallway with a damn alpha?

“Knew it would be a challenge to get you out of that quick head of yours,” Harry said, and Louis sent him a pained glance before he could stop himself, and Harry's hand squeezed his bum, stroked with three fingers along his perineum, unhesitating and lovely.

“Hey, no, I like a challenge,” Harry said, standing up, but his fingers continuing their exploration, “Just got to work hard enough to make you stop worrying.”

Harry pushed the palm of his hand into Louis’ mouth and covered his nose with deft fingers. Louis stared up at him with wide eyes, startled.

“If you don't want this, at any moment, tap my shoulder, I’ll stop,” Harry whispered, “Promise.”

No, Louis definitely wanted. Louis whimpered and ground his face into Harry's hand, all barriers down. Harry held his mouth, closed his nose against the air for just enough long seconds for Louis to feel lightness in his chest and that heady sense that Harry was in control, and then Harry lifted his fingers and Louis gasped in air. Harry had shoved his thigh in between Louis’ legs, turning it in an agonizing circle against Louis’ cock. Harry had read him right, somehow, that he _needed_ to feel out of control far enough that he could give himself permission to let the desire out. Louis felt himself go wet, all wanting and urgent.

Harry read that too, made a motion like he was about to go down on Louis again and devastate him before Louis even had a chance to return the favor, so Louis grabbed Harry about his very nice shoulders and hauled him up. Louis flipped Harry into the wall, hard, using all the strength and leverage that people were always surprised to find in his wiry frame. Harry grinned with all of his teeth. Out in the symphony hall, which apparently still existed, the music had turned to something more frenzied, resonant and growing.

Louis was the one in control now and Harry obviously liked it from the way his head was arching back dangerously close to hitting the wall. He really was unfairly attractive, a lanky but fit body that Louis wished he could see out of the suit. Louis gripped firm into the front of Harry’s shirt and with his other hand, palmed over the significant bulge in Harry’s suit slacks, which weren’t doing his trapped erection any favors. Harry’s breath stuttered and Louis marveled, again, at the look of pleasure on his face.

Louis unbuttoned Harry's shirt, and Harry let his suit jacket fall heedlessly to the floor. With the shirt collar pulled down Harry's shoulder, Louis mouthed at Harry's collarbone and ran his bared teeth across the skin, very carefully. Omega biting was rare, and too much for a one night stand, but Louis couldn't resist the urge to show Harry that he at least _felt_ it, that he _could._ It was dirty and intimate and a little insane, but Harry caught his breath and ghosted his fingers across Louis’ back and neck in unmistakable pleasure, so Louis supposed the risk had been worth it.

“You are going to pay for that,” Harry said, voice full of possessive alpha but hands tender on Louis’ shoulders. Louis grinned wickedly at him and slipped both of his hands down the waist of Harry's suit slacks. _Christ_ , obviously Harry would have a nice cock too, big and gorgeous. Harry had a diagonal line of script across his hip leading into his v-line, and perfect abs, and Louis wondered whether there was other ink to be found. Under his hands, Harry's muscles felt strong and sculpted, long hipbones and so many contours to explore. Louis scraped his fingernails into those muscles, hard, and Harry grunted.

“Just evening out the score,” Louis said, because he was still standing in a hallway with his pants about his knees, and trying to look dignified about it. But it was easier to feel comfortable with Harry like this, back arched unselfconsciously into the wall and lifting his hips to Louis’ hands.

“For the love of god,” Harry said, “Take my clothes off, how much time do we even have?”

Louis paused contemplatively, listening. “There’s at least twenty more minutes in this movement,” he said, “And it takes ten minutes after that for the ushers to come back through the box hallways.”

“You are the sexiest nerd I’ve ever blown in a music hall,” Harry gasped, as Louis unbuttoned Harry’s slacks and slowly and torturously wrapped his hand around Harry’s cock and twisted it, still enmeshed in the fabric of Harry’s boxer briefs. They felt high quality too, maybe Harry was a bit of a hedonist. Unsurprising. Louis fought down the irrational desire to know where else that extended in Harry’s life, how he found his pleasures outside of the symphony.

“I don’t know whether I should be flattered by the ranking, or alarmed that there’s a large enough sample for that to be meaningful,” Louis said. _Mmmmphf,_ Harry said, so Louis took that as proof that maybe it had been a long time, but he was still quite good at this. He kissed up the side of Harry’s neck, because it seemed like Harry might be the kind of sensitive alpha who actually went for that stuff, and because Louis was too, not that he’d admit it. Harry’s hands on Louis’ shoulders were actually shaking a little.

“Flattered, definitely flattered,” Harry said. He brought his hands underneath Louis’ jumper, skidded them along Louis’ skin. Louis felt it like the drop of warm tea with honey into his stomach after a long day, everything in his body just wanting more skin, more warmth, more Harry. Harry kept one hand on Louis’ lower back and dropped the other one to his ass, skimming his finger over Louis’ ass and then gently pushing it inward, careful and firm. Louis wanted it so much he saw stars pressing against his eyelids.

“Ah,” Louis said, nonsensically, gasping a little, flexing his hands on Harry’s cock, “I’ll take your word on it.”

Harry leaned forward to kiss Louis deeply, rutting forward in Louis’ fist. They trapped each other in their hands, tangled legs and long kisses. Louis wanted to stay in this moment forever, wanted to freeze time around them like a chrysalis while he found all of the rhythms that would unwind Harry between his fingers.  

“You’re beautiful,” Harry whispered, opening him up, and Louis wanted _more,_ he burned for it, how had he gone all this time without a beautiful alpha like Harry to lose himself in? Louis skittered his thoughts away from that train, away from everything that wasn't this moment.

“I’ve heard,” Louis said, tossing his head to clear the hair from his eyes. Apparently that was too much for Harry, who made a noise like he was personally affronted and stepped forward, throwing Louis off balance and catching him in a grip around his waist.

“Fuck you,” Louis said, “I could’ve ripped a vital appendage off, there,”

“Since we’re being timed,” Harry said, turning Louis back around to face the wall and biting into the back of Louis’ neck, just the surface.

Louis felt himself shudder, a full-body shudder, Harry’s teeth sparking something deep and instinctual and flickering in his torso. His feet started sliding out from him on the carpet, the edges of the world going dark.

“Hey,” Harry said, voice deep and grounding and calm, “Stay with me now, _Louis,”_

Louis felt Harry’s steadying arms wrapped around him. Louis blinked against the dark, let the spark die. Not here, not now, not with a stranger, not even if he really wanted to.

“Sorry,” he said weakly, “Sorry,”

“No, I’m sorry,” Harry said, spooning Louis up against the wall and now, trailing his fingers up and down Louis’ bare hips, which was prompting a different kind of shiver. Coming back to reality, Louis could tell that Harry hadn’t even really bitten, just the start of the pressure around his neck had been sending him under. That was a little worrisome. “You’re all good, I didn’t mean to push you. All right?”

Louis shrugged minisculely, acutely aware of how hot and wet and edgy he felt with Harry’s body, Harry’s cock just inches away, his heat and strength filling Louis’ perception.

“Use your words,” Harry said, laughter in his voice. Louis rolled his eyes, even though Harry couldn’t see, because it was nonsense that Harry had only known him for three quarters of a symphony and could already tell that Louis shrugged instead of talking when he felt embarrassed.

“I’m good,” he confirmed, and to confirm it further, he arched his back and rolled his hips against Harry, invitingly. Harry moaned, just a little.

“We’re almost at the end of the section,” Louis said, following the trilling of the violins and beating his fingers a bit against the wall to illustrate. “Let’s race them to it.”

Harry bent to kiss Louis on the side of his neck, apologetically, maybe, near the spot where he’d bit. He produced a condom from some strategic pocket, fumbling through the pants that had fallen to the floor, and Louis snorted a little laugh that Harry echoed.

“Oh you laugh now,” Harry said, coming back up and pulling Louis’ hair. Louis ended the laugh on a moan.

“Like an alpha with a sense of humor,” he said. Harry draped himself over Louis’ back, bent at the hips and pressed in, delightfully tall and comforting.

“So do I,” Harry said.

Harry held Louis by the hips and by the roots of his hair and he drove inside of him, slowly and sweetly. Louis felt every single movement of it, his muscles feeling pressed and full and clenching around Harry’s cock. Louis felt held and pinned and gentled and attacked all at once, Harry’s scent all around them, alpha and possessive. Louis focused on the symphony hall wallpaper, willed himself to relax. It felt so incredible, so _needed,_ like a drink of water when you didn’t even know you were thirsty. Harry pulled lightly on Louis’ hair, kissed the side of his face and bit at his ear. Louis tried not to moan at absolutely everything, like the touch-starved omega that he was.

“You feel amazing,” Harry said, rolling his hips smoothly, and Louis stuttered out a hushed groan in lieu of anything sensible.

Harry was soothing down Louis’ hip with his hand and pressing his thighs up and against Louis’, holding him into the wall. It was gorgeous; Louis thought vaguely in the part of his mind that could still think that it might be the best sex he’d ever had. His cock hung full and heavy and painfully hard against the wall, and he reached a hand down more to grab something than because he even needed it. Harry found a rhythm, drove in and out of Louis, still slow, but building speed.

“Good boy,” he whispered, not a hint of condescension in his voice, “So gorgeous. Let go.”

It was everything Louis ever wanted to hear, here in the dark with the chandelier light creeping through the door, secret and taboo. Louis felt his muscles spasm and moaned and Harry moved to muffle his mouth. Louis bit, just a tiny little bite at Harry’s fingers, like revenge. He felt Harry snort a whisper-laugh and he threw himself back against Harry’s hips in a fiercer rhythm, feeling Harry’s cock bury itself even deeper and his own slick run hot and wet between them. He was a mess with his jumper pulled halfway up his back, and his hair in every direction. Harry’s cock felt like a rod, hard and full inside him. Harry took a good, hard pull in Louis’ hair, reached a slick-wet hand around to encircle Louis’ cock and pump it.

“Come for me,” Harry gasped, “So close, Lou,”

That was all Louis needed. They fell apart together.


	4. Finale

“Sorry I made you miss so much of the music,” Harry whispered.

"I was still listening," Louis said. “You apologize an awful lot for someone who isn’t actually sorry about anything."

They were back in their seats, fully clothed, although Harry’s shirt may have been buttoned crookedly, one side hanging too long over his jacket collar. Louis hadn’t had his glasses on, after all, and Harry hadn’t exactly been helpful.

Louis let his head fall back against the velvet of his seat and closed his eyes. He felt loose and warm and unsnarled, in need of a shower, but so, so content. Harry was back in the seat next to him but their bodies leaned in towards each other, Louis’ knee jutting into Harry’s lap and Harry’s fingers rolling over it. It was ticklish and soothing. They’d crept back into the box in time for the last four minutes. The orchestra was playing their hearts out, strings whirling in a tempo that was finally harmonious with the director and driving towards a percussive grand finale.

“This is my favorite part,” Louis whispered, eyes still closed, probably not even loud enough for Harry to hear.

“Mine too,” Harry said, even though that didn’t make any sense, because Louis was pretty certain that Harry had never heard this piece before. But he felt Harry rest his hand on top of Louis’, and he felt it in the base of his spine, in the crook of his toes, the subtle unwinding of muscles as the touch washed through him. Harry’s hand was warm and his thumb stroked soothingly over the knuckle of Louis’ thumb. If this were a normal one night stand, if they were at Louis’ flat, maybe Harry would have wanted to stay the night. Maybe Louis would have let him.

But it wasn’t, and they weren’t. Louis pulled his head up and his hand away when the chandeliers started their familiar descent at the end of the applause, the magic evaporating in the dark corners of the hall. Behind them, the doorway to the box clicked open and the familiar usher with a polished blonde bun was already coming in with her little flashlight and basket for waste. Louis had always wondered whether she was there to keep him from sneaking through the side door that led down the side of the building to backstage, like some kind of weird symphony groupie.

“A good start to the season, Mr. Tomlinson?” she asked kindly, already plucking the empty drink cups off the floor, because she knew his bad habits by now.

“Never better,” Louis said. Harry was already starting to stand, already shuffling on a long, dark, well-cut coat. That was it, then; Louis fought the sudden drop in his stomach and the strange urge to say something, make it last. But of course none of it had been real, and now it was over.

“Anything else?” the usher asked, gesturing with the basket.

“No strings to pick up here,” Harry said, a dimple in one cheek. Bastard. The usher headed out with a look of polite but charmed confusion, probably the world's typical reaction to Harry.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Louis said. Harry paused from winding a scarf around his neck--bright purple, with flowers on it, which somehow made perfect sense. Louis tapped the bridge of his own nose.

“Of course,” Harry said, gently lifting Louis’ glasses from his jacket pocket. Instead of giving them to Louis, he fumbled around the back of Louis’ seat and stuffed them in his coat pocket which, ok, maybe Harry was in a fuss to get out, maybe he didn’t even want to _touch_ Louis again, although that didn’t really line up with the hand-holding and all. Louis squared his shoulders and gave him a bright, _nice seeing you_ smile and nod. Back to normal life, then.

Harry glanced back at Louis with that same sleepy smile in his eyes he’d walked in with, and just like that, he was gone.

Louis settled back in his seat, watching the audience file out down the aisles. He usually waited for the first crush to bundle themselves into the preferred fancy black cab of the symphony elderly. Hell, maybe tonight he’d just walk the mile to his loft, clear his head. Of course Harry left, that’s what it was, a moment of insanity for both of them, a glorious symphony one-night stand that couldn’t even last a whole night. Whoever Harry was, he wasn’t for the real world, or for the real Louis. Louis didn’t even know his last name.

Louis straightened his jumper unnecessarily, gave a fond last look at the chandeliers, and put on his coat. He pulled his glasses out of his pocket but--something caught on Louis’ fingertip as he put his hand into his coat pocket, a rough edge. He pulled it out: a long, red and gold symphony ticket. Louis frowned; he always had his tickets on his phone. _Orchestra Premium,_ the front read, not even box. Louis turned it over in his hand. On the other side was a bold scrawl, handwritten in pen: _Harry Styles_ , and a phone number, and underneath: _just in case._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D :D :D
> 
> EDIT: Saving Symphony Hall now exists as the sequel to this work! Follow on for significantly more symphonic drama.


End file.
